


The Red Menace

by HYPERFocused



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Humor, M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-18
Updated: 2002-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romancing. The stone. A red letter day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Menace

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I don't own any version of Clark, much as I'd like the chance to ogle RedLeather!Clark. I have no control over the much-in-control Lex Luthor. I don't cause Lana's lips to move (does anyone)? or the platitudes to fly from Jonathan's mouth. And don't even ask me to bake a pie.

It was a beautiful ring, Clark thought, looking at the Jostens catalog. A deep ruby stone, facets glinting. His graduation year, and SVHS carved into the other side. He thought about how it would look on his hand. He imagined how it would look hung from a gold chain on Lana's neck, resting in the hollow of her throat.

With Whitney gone, and those looks Lana kept giving him, Clark thought it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding. He'd promised Whitney, and Clark was a good boy. He always made good on his promises. 

He knew his parents would have a cow if he ordered it, (actually, they had several cows) but it was his money. He earned every penny of that $350, one delivery at a time. He had even done odd jobs for the neighbors, True, it wasn't like manual labor was actually laborious for him, but no one had to know that. Mr. Stewart next door had given him an extra $20 for getting his firewood cut and stacked so quickly. Besides, it wasn't like he was spending his money on beer, or videogames. A class ring was a legitimate purchase. He could wear it with pride, when he looked back fondly at his high school days from the heights of his adult life. It would be super. Hmm, why did he have a sudden hankering for a cheeseburger? 

* * *

It was a beautiful ring, Clark thought, as he opened the velvet and satin box, and saw it nestled inside. So much had changed in the months since he had ordered it. He knew himself so much better now -- his true self. True, there were more questions to be answered, but what he'd learned so far was profound. It was like the tornado had stripped the town of its pretenses, and forced him to be honest with himself about his feelings. Neither Lana, nor Chloe held the kind of appeal he knew they were supposed to, for a red-blooded all American (albeit alien) boy. Not anymore. 

Now he pictured the ring, an almost blur of crimson on his finger. His hand wrapped tight around Lex's cock, as he took what he'd wanted -- what he knew they both wanted all along. His best friend. His more-than-a-friend. _This_ secret, they did share. He'd spied on Lex too many times to count, seen him flushed nearly the same color as the stone, but hadn't had the guts to follow through, to do something. He was a good boy. But slipping the ring onto his finger, he knew that was about to change. He couldn't fucking wait. 

Who the fuck was Jessie, and what was Clark doing sprawled out on Lex's chaise lounge like a refugee from a perverted Psychotherapist's wettest dream? Seeing Clark dressed to the nines like that had caused a reaction his father could probably see. Everything about Clark was new, from the just-been-fucked hair (was that possible)? to the garish ruby looking ring, to the black duster that practically had his jaw dropping open (and him dropping to his knees). 

Intellectually, Lex knew Clark wasn't being himself. Not that this was anything new in Smallville. People changed, or at least were changed. He wondered what had done it this time. 

Cursing himself for the conscience the real Clark had brought out in him, he acquiesced in all of Clark's demands. Telling him to wait while he set things up, Lex slipped away to go talk to the Kents. He hoped Clark would forgive him, after all this weirdness was over. Even more, he hoped Clark would look at him with that passion again -- for real. Lex knew he could fuck this Clark. He wasn't sure it would mean anything, though. This was a Clark who was all about taking. His Clark - the one he hadn't admitted loving, yet -- was all about giving. He was a good boy, rapidly becoming a good man. With patience and cultivation, Lex was sure, boy, he would be good. 

* * *

Oh my God. Clark sat at the breakfast table, a sheepish smile on his face. He'd promised to make it up to them, return the ring (the $350 he'd get back would barely put a dent in the restocking costs for all the crap he'd bought). He knew it wasn't the money, that upset his parents. It was the greed, the thoughtlessness, the total negation of the values he'd been taught since they rescued him. 

He worried he really could die of embarrassment. Shame, even. He couldn't look his father in the eye, but he couldn't avoid seeing the severe bruises he'd caused. Even worse was the sorrow tinged with fear he knew his mother felt. How the hell was he going to make it up to them? It may have been the red meteor rocks that made all this happen, but those feelings had been there all along. He didn't want to be the kind of person who felt anything so selfish. He loved his parents, knew they sacrificed more than anyone should to give him a happy life. He'd always been such a good boy, necessity dampening down any hint of rebellion. Even his lies served a greater purpose. He knew they'd be disappointed to know how much of his behavior had been real, the past few days. 

What scared him, even beyond the shame of how he had treated his parents, was that he didn't feel any differently about Lex. He was mortified that he'd treated his friend like a human credit card, but the rest of it -- the dreams, the wanting had been utterly real. Now that he had tasted this passion, he didn't think he needed the impetus of a meteor rock to act on it. It was like there was a fragment of it, glowing crimson for all to see, still inside him. No matter what, he would no longer be clueless Clark. Maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing. Pouring himself a _glass_ of milk, he thought about how he could make everything right. 


End file.
